Passion
by aussie girl1990
Summary: People believe passion is used in alot of things. Passion is beautiful. Passion is love. But what if his Passion was something he couldn't have? ONESHOT


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and the passion is from btvs spoken by Angel in Passion.

Passion

I hate her, I really do. Sometimes when I'm lying in bed I think of hurting her, making her bleed, making her cry, beg. Begging him to kill her, I want to slowly drain her of the life she lives, I want to watch her life leave her eyes, the same eyes that mock me day after day.

I remember the words she spoke in our English class:

_Passion, it lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden. It will stir, open its jaws and howl._

She's crying as I make another cut just above her navel, making her bleed and cry more. We're in the battle field just hours after the final battle, in which Potter had won. It took me the last three years to gain his trust just to get close to her. I wanted her but Potter had her and this battle was perfect. Many bodies from the war were never found, and hers will be one of them.

_It speaks to us, guides us, passion rules us all, and we obey, what choice do we have._

Potter had mourned for over two years until moving on to the youngest Weasley, Ginny. When I told her she cried for days on end and I watched her. Even now I loved it when she cried, I would savor it, losing myself in her heart wracking sobs wanting more then she was willing to give.

_Passion is the source of our finest moments, the joy of love, the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief._

Five years later and her body was still here, everything that made her, her was now gone, leaving only the shell of the body that I had used over and over again for all kinds of pleasures. I think maybe it's time to let her go, she no longer cries when I hit her or cut her, she barely bleeds. Her eyes are dull and never move from the spot on the wall that she has been looking at for over a year now.

_It hurts sometimes more then we can bare. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow, empty rooms, shuttered dank. Without passion we'd truly be dead. _

They were all getting old. It's been 27 years since the last battle. Potter had six kids, three girls and three boys, the girls are 12 years old and the boys are 15. Weasley married Pansy and had three kids, one girl and two boys, Janice is 12 and the boys are 15.

I decide it's time to move on with my life, I go into the dungeons where I keep her. She doesn't look at me when I enter the cell, she knows it's me, it's always me.

"Is it true? What you said in our English class? 'Without passion we'd be truly dead'?"

For the first time in a long time she turned her head and looked me in the eye. "You remember that." I could barely hear her, she hasn't spoken in years.

"Yes, I remember it all." He reached out and touched her face that was now covered in scars he had given her; she didn't flinch or even blink.

"What do you think? Do you think it's the truth?" she just sat there without moving or blinking, waiting for an answer.

I had to think for a moment. "Yes I think it is true."

"Then why am I here?" her question had thrown me off and I could help but be ashamed.

"Because I love you."

She looked away from me. "You didn't love, you think you love me, but you don't, that is passion. I was your passion and instead of treating me like it you played me and my friends, you hurt me." He backed into the door like the words were pushing him away. "You scared me, used me and killed me, leaving no passion in me."

I had to do what I came down here to do; I lifted my wand and started with the spell when I heard the words I wanted to hear my whole life coming from her in ragged breathes.

"Kill me, kill me please, kill me."

This made him feel stronger, he got what he wanted.

He stood by and watched as her body was hit by the beautiful green light ending what ever life she had.

Had he stuck around after killing her would he had heard the words her soul had spoken.

_Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden. It will stir, open its jaws and howl._

_It speaks to us, guides us, passion rules us all, and we obey, what choice do we have?_

_Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief._

_It hurts sometimes more then we can bare. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow, empty rooms, shuttered dank. Without passion we'd truly be dead._

He had just killed his passion and now he, Dean Thomas, was truly dead after killing Hermione Granger.

111

By Jessica.

Beta'd by dreamingstar213


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